The Return of Sherlock Holmes
by SherlockDW2013
Summary: This is how I imagine Sherlock Holmes' Grand Return to John Watson. Rated for Strong Language


John Watson stared miserably out of the window, overlooking the activity of those below him. They were rushing to get out of the rain as it peppered across Baker Street. It was another miserable day; there had been quite a few of those since he died. That amazing and remarkable man, John was fascinated by him the moment he met him. Sherlock Holmes. He missed Sherlock's annoying Violin playing at 3 in the morning, Sherlock firing his gun at the wall and God he wouldn't mind him interrupting one of his dates –not that he'd had any recently… A knock at the door ripped John's attention away from his thoughts.  
"Come in." he croaked, and Miss Hudson bundled inside with a tray of tea and an overflowing plate of biscuits.

"Thought you might me hungry." She said as the contents of the tray clinked when she put it down on the table.

"Th-Thank You" John stammered as he helped himself to a cup.

"No problem love. Just remember I'm not your housekeeper."

She said and quietly shut the door behind her. John's hands shook as he tried to put the cup to his lips; then cursed as he spilled the hot liquid on the floor. He grunted with impatience and slammed the cup onto the table, spilling even more tea across the table. John muttered curses; then buried his head in his hands. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Why did he have to do it? Why did he have to jump? He sniffed away the tears and tried to get a hold of himself. He took a few shaky breaths and contained his composure. He muttered a few words of aggravation as a few stray tears fell down his cheeks; he wiped them away and calmly poured another cup of tea. He managed to drink half of it before his hands started shaking again; he gave up on the tea and decided to have a brisk walk across London.

He grabbed his walking stick, put on his coat and flew out the room. He said a quick goodbye to Miss. Hudson and left the apartment. He remembered how much she would try to cheer him up –bless her heart- almost every time she would find him shaking slightly in his room and would slowly comfort him. He recalled the last year or so as he hobbled around London, he was out for about an hour until he checked his watch and decided to limp home.

The moment he arrived he knew something was wrong, the door was open and the top half hung loosely as the hinge had broken. His gun had flown to his hand as he ever so quietly entered the house. Years in the army had paid off as he calmly roamed the corridors, cautious not to make a sound.

"Miss Hudson?" he whispered trying not to be loud. He gave up on searching as he noticed a few specks of blood on the staircase. It leaded upwards, to his _Room_. He held his breath as he followed the trail and he found his door wide open, exposing the contents inside the flat. As he entered he could hear the sharp intakes of breath, he saw a figure in a dark coat sitting on the couch.

"Don't move." He said "I'm armed, so don't try anything." He saw the figure raise one hand which was covered in blood but the other hung limply by his side. The man stood up and ever so slowly – and deliberately- turned. John couldn't help but gasp as his eyes traced the familiar features. Dark, curly hair, smart eyes and sharp cheekbones, the Medic lowered his gun

"Sh-Sherlock?" he said

"Hello John." Sherlock Holmes replied with a weak smile and his twinkling eyes "It's been a while,"

"It can't b-be you." John muttered

"It is. I must apologise that I kept in the dark about my survival but its alri-"  
"No, don't start that!" he shouted "Don't start with the 'I'm alright rubbish and everything will go back to normal'!"

"John…" Sherlock took a step forwards but John held up a shaking hand  
"Don't 'John' me Sherlock! I thought you were dead! Dead for God sake! I saw you jump off a building - and… and" John's voice was beginning to get stuck in his throat as tears rolled down his cheeks but he wiped them away angrily

"I saw you lying on the pavement covered in- in blood and…" John couldn't take it, he started crying more. He threw his gun to the side in frustration "Do you know how m-much _pain_ I've g- gone t-through?"

His legs buckled beneath him and he slumped against the wall. Sherlock couldn't help but feel guilt as he thought about what John had went through the past 7 months, it seemed to pile up in the pit of his stomach and all of a sudden Sherlock felt sick. He limped up to John and kneeled down, he winced at the sharp pain that exploded in his leg but tried to ignore it.

"John, I'm-" he was cut off as John's fist connected with his face. Sherlock tumbled backwards and fell to the floor, he hissed in pain as he landed on his bad arm.

"_That's_ for how much I've suffered for the past year!" Sherlock rubbed his bruised cheek slowly but otherwise did not react.

"I never expected how you would react…" he whispered weakly

"Damn bloody right!" Do you know how I-" John paused as he finally got a good look at Sherlock. He saw how thin he had grown despite his thin frame the last time John had saw him alive, his eyes were hidden under his black curls but John saw sadness all over them. They hid horrific sights which Sherlock had seen over the past year; John grasped the fact on how selfish he was being

"Sherlock… I'm sorry I- It's just been hard for me… Come on." Sherlock flinched at John's touch but didn't complain as he was helped to his feet.

"Let's get that wound cleaned up, shall we?" Sherlock smiled it was a small but genuine smile. It was something he hadn't done in a long time. After bandaging the wound and placing ice on Sherlock's cheek, the pair talked the night away, they continued to do so until the moon was replaced by a burst of brilliant orange.

Sherlock woke with a start and his eyes darted about the room, he calmed as he saw John sleeping on the couch opposite. He winced as pain shot up his arm like a bullet, he slowly got up from the chair and shuffled into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He heard John groan in discomfort on the couch, Sherlock smiled and placed the cup down, he hovered over his friend for a few moments before gingerly picking him up in a bridal style carry.

Sherlock decided that his room was the closest so carried John there, when he opened the door quietly, he noticed how everything was still in order and clean. He lay John on the bed and removed his shoes, he walked away and closed the door silently before he left.  
A few hours later John's eyes snapped open and he gasped. He sat up and scanned the room; he was in Sherlock's room. It was all a dream, Oh God, Sherlock's still dead. John had tears filling his eyes until he heard the soft music from a violin. He shot out of bed and into the living room where Sherlock sat playing his violin gently.

"Had a good sleep John?" Sherlock said without looking up

"Absolutely." John smiled


End file.
